


Imprints on Concrete

by Nichomen



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mystery, Slow Build, Wanderlust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichomen/pseuds/Nichomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's departure was sudden, unexplained, and was the itching sensation in the back of Tim's head screaming "something's not right." The lack of signs suggested he didn't want to be found, that he needed to disappear; but despite how hard he tried to cover his tracks, Jason couldn't erase the trail of imprints he left on on the lives of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprints on Concrete

**Author's Note:**

> The story, in the most general sense I can put it, revolves around Jason’s sudden departure from Gotham for unknown reasons, and Tim’s determination to find out why and where. The only evidence and clues he has to go on come from the different people Jason has met along the way, which basically becomes Tim learning and knowing Jason from a second hand perspective, a kind of idea I always liked as opposed to you know, getting to know someone first hand…

On November 16, Jason Peter Todd had been missing for exactly one month.

Perhaps not even missing, but most definitely disappeared.

Any trace that was once Jason Todd was gone, nonexistent, or erased, the only exception his long since empty tomb; never removed, continually maintained, but rarely visited. Red Hood sightings followed soon after, building up from a string of small, seemingly unrelated gang busts up to his last appearance at the climactic capture of several high priority (and one high profile) reputable crime lords, all of whom had been beaten and made (in the most manageable term) indecent upon their discovery on the rooftop of the GCPD building.

 Tim was there, on that night of October 16, arguably the last person to have seen him. Back turned to him, relaxed, as if a burden had been lifted—which taking several scumbags off the streets of Gotham probably warranted, Jason Todd was undoubtedly there in the flesh. But it was odd.

As if Jason, at that moment, wasn’t really Jason. Granted he was the Red Hood at the moment, but somehow Tim could always see that little bit of Jason pour through the crass banter and squared shoulders that seemed to somehow knock him over from several feet away.

But again, he would reiterate, tonight was different. It wasn’t Jason Todd standing there in the washed out glow of the Gotham night; it wasn’t even the Red Hood. Whoever was behind the helmet (both literally and figuratively) was relaxed, almost breezy in his steps. He was someone new.

Someone different.

So much so that it felt almost as if Jason, or whoever Tim thought Jason was, had been gone so much longer than that man leaning against the city’s skyline that night, hands on his hips, undisturbed by the equally unusual silence. His last words to Tim were a gesture _, goodbye and see you later_ he said with that single two finger salute, equally unusual in addition to his demeanor that night. But Tim ignored it then.

Really, what in life had made him feel so on edge when encountered with acts of civility? Multiple attempts on his life from within the family? Countless from outside? Death, chaos, and destruction practically looming within every inch of space he occupied?

All viable reasons, but he knew this was one of those moments others would chalk up to “over thinking.” So he watched, only briefly, as Jason descended towards the streets until his figure became just another fixture in the Gotham alleys, and he instead, went the opposite direction, ascending the vacant rooftops towards home.

 But now, skimming through the various channels and networks associated with Jason, all of which showed the same various decrease in activity up until the night of October 16, he was filled with a little regret and a lot of curiosity for what the outcome would have been if he had stopped Jason that night. Asked him what was wrong, or what was right?

Because something was different, and different never emerged from out of nowhere, just as Jason couldn’t have possibly just vanished into thin air.

He had to have left something, other than his odd behavior. Bruce may have known, but he said nothing. Barbara had admitted to noticing his network access had been showing a somewhat steady decline until it flat-lined sometime within the week of his last known appearance, but paid no mind to it. Dick and Stephanie were at a loss and Damian showed little interest other than in his accusatory theories; the usual bitter dribble about “Todd’s natural affinity with crime” in various colorful and derogatory statements.

Alfred, ever the empathetic, suggested that maybe Jason had just taken it upon himself to take some time off of the vigilante work, said with such a painfully hopeful gleam in his eye at the idea of a normal lifestyle for any of them, making Tim wince only a little bit with guilt and a deep, unspoken apology.

But he knew, and Alfred knew, that that was just blind idealism, on both their parts. Jason could never sit still knowing the streets were dirty. He had a sixth sense for corruption, for nastiness and the most blanketed form of evil, which absolutely forbade him from taking “time off.”

And despite having no identity, no legal ties-ins to responsibility like a taxpayer’s job, school, kids, a spouse or significant other, Jason seemed to pound what he thought made up for all the blanks in his life with work; his work.

It was his life, the crunching bone, the blood, serving his city in the rawest way possible; everything he did was for the people of his Gotham. Not Tim’s, not Bruce’s or Dick’s. _His_ Gotham. The unheard and unseen, citizens not much better off dead. He was their parallel, their embodiment, and he served them so passionately, so cruelly to their oppressors; his oppressors. He spoke, felt, and _breathed_ Gotham—he was just another part of the city’s bleeding heart—and now he was gone.

Alone in the dark of his penthouse, Tim was perplexed. There had to be a reason for his absence; no, he _knew_ there was a reason for it. But the hum of his computer and multi-servers crunching through city and state records of both New Jersey and New York, including flight and public transportation records, gave nothing on Jason Todds, Jay Todds, Peter Todds, Jason Peters, or any combination of embarrassingly telling associated names and known aliases with no satisfactory results. Gas stations and private fliers turned up empty; no sightings of a young man, early twenties to be seen at any of the bay area docks, recruited as help or as a cruise line customer.

Tim’s physical investigations proved almost as fruitless as well. Out of the six safe houses located strategically throughout Gotham, two had been destroyed, two simply vacated, and one stripped bare to the point of him questioning whether he had only imagined it as a part of Jason’s string of makeshift getaways. The last one, nestled within an older, crude apartment adjacent to Crime Alley, had been the only one Tim had yet to check. And really, it was his last hope at this point.

This was one of the two located in a populated area; inconspicuous in that it laid itself bare for everyone to see, and that completely typical aspect of it was part of what made Tim reluctant to investigate it in the first place, but not as reluctant as when Jason was still living there. Going to visit him then would have implied they were friends, and that was something that…well, Tim wasn’t so sure about yet. It was a subject neither touched on, floating silently between them when they came face to face, beat down with mocking jabs and their lingering competitive nature.

And right now, Tim had an itching feeling that maybe he knew the answer, and a little too late.

Why else would he be there, in broad daylight dressed as another casual happenstance in Gotham city, standing meekly before a paint-peeled door? While part of this may have been (definitely was) his suspicion, his anticipation for whatever Jason was planning, there was a small part, a tiny part (microscopic) that whispered so quietly in his mind, “ _he was your friend, where could be?_ ”

 

“ _How could you let the family lose him again.”_

“Can I help you?”

The small voice vanished in a haze, snapping him right back before the little crooked door, faced with a small, plump woman with warm skin and a warmer smile. She was in her thirties, maybe, several plastic bags adorning her wrists and arms filled to the brim with household necessities like eggs, milk, Crocky Crunch, sandwich things, and other unidentifiable foodstuffs. And unless Dick Grayson was her roommate, Tim guessed she was about to come back home to her kids.

“Oh no, m’am,” Tim stepped aside, allowing her further access to the corridor; but instead of walking beyond him, she stopped beside him, looking up at him with reserved curiosity.

“Actually, I had a friend who lived here a while ago—uh, one I hadn’t really talked to before he moved.”

She paused to think, but Tim had a feeling she knew exactly who he was talking about.

“Oh, you must mean Charlie.”

“Charlie—Oh yeah, that’s him,” he figured it was okay to smile, trying to seem sincere and knowing. But she looked back at him with a mother’s wisdom of bullshit, but said nothing to assert the fact. “I heard he moved from a mutual friend, but uh, I guess he didn’t really care to tell me. I guess it shows how close we are _.”_

Tim’s laugh was almost a little too painfully genuine, which wasn’t helped by the woman’s almost sympathetic gaze. She reached out to grasp Tim’s arm, never breaking eye contact when she spoke, always smiling, always warm.

“I wouldn’t be too hard on myself if I were you. He left pretty suddenly, you know; I figure it was some sort of family emergency.”

Right, family. The word stung a bit, more than Tim would like to admit.

“But it’s strange, I’d never seen him bring friends over before. He always worked odd hours. What did you say your name was?”

And as she continued to speak, Tim’s breath hitched; hearing her speak about Jason felt invasive. Whatever Jason’s life was beyond patrol and antagonizing banter was somewhat of a mystery to Tim; a well kept secret he felt wasn’t a part of their unspoken-friendship deal. But the morbid curiosity made him listen, nodding and agreeing to the parts he felt appropriate. The relay of stories somehow enticed him into offering to help carry her bags into her home, and somehow landed a cup of juice in his hands as she spoke of Jason fondly.

 “And oh, he was so sweet, too, in his own weird way. The kids loved to bother him whenever they got the chance, but he always put up with them, more than I can on a bad day anyway. I think they just appreciate that he didn’t treat them like babies.”

Jason and kids, two subjects Tim never really considered in relation to one another. As far as he could remember, the only kid Tim had ever seen Jason really deal with was Damian, and even then he was a kid strictly by years. From what he gathered then, Jason had no problem provoking kids as he did adults; but then again, this was Damian, and a horrible point of reference for anyone’s ability to handle kids.

And as if on cue, two children, about five and six, burst through the door in excitement, escaping the watchful eye of their babysitter across the street, as Tim remembered correctly; Angie was a clever young lady Jason had once read _Pride and Prejudice_ to when assaulted by her endless curiosity, and Andy, the younger one, was just as curious, but very quiet, and would often ask the what’s and why’s of anything Jason related.

“Mommy! Andy won’t let me wear the sunglasses!”

“No, you got to wear them yesterday!”

“Yeah for like, two minutes!”

“No!”

As suddenly as they flew into the room they stopped, halting to look up at the stranger in their home. The boy, once a bundle of righteous fury, stood stalk still behind his sister, lifting the glasses from his face to get a better look.

“You two stop fighting, or I’ll take them away—this is Charlie’s friend, Tim.”

Both children looked at one another, knowing, judging, and making Tim feel three inches tall. The girl’s face was incredulous when she spoke.

“You’re Timmy?”

Ouch, Timmy didn’t know a six year old girl could put so much venom in two little words.

“You know him?”

Sophie looked just as perplexed as Tim, half because she had somewhat doubted his own legitimacy as “Charlie’s” friend.

“Yeah, Charlie talked about you sometime. He said you were a dork.”

Double Ouch.

“Angelica, there is nothing wrong with being a dork.”

Okay going for a Triple Ouch there.

But despite the domestic bickering now firing through the air and a teenage boy’s slightly wounded esteem, Tim’s mind had caught on to the implication that Jason had revealed some sort of truths to this family, and if not to the mother then definitely the kids. He looked towards the boy now standing quietly beside him, staring straight at him as if Tim wouldn’t notice, hands knotted behind his back, red rimmed sunglasses of some generic brand sitting across his head.

“Do you know when Charlie’s coming back?”

His voice seemed to drift just above an audible volume, drenched with the natural curiosity of a five year old, expecting every person above three foot tall to hold all the answer he’d ever need to look for.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t even know where he went. Do you?”

Andy shook his head, dark curls bouncing over his eyes, much like Jason’s had once done when he was younger. However, despite the similarities, Tim couldn’t see the bold and gruff Jason he was familiar with reflected on his face.

“He said he went far away, but he let me borrow his sunglasses.”

He took them off, making a show of it to Tim, offering them for Tim to hold. He took them obligingly, tracing the rims with his fingertips, unremarkable in material and shape, something that couldn’t have cost more than a few dollars.

But the children treated it as a treasure, so Tim took care in doing the same.

“So he has to come back to get them, huh?”

Tim’s smile rewarded him with Andy’s own grin as he bent down to place the glasses back on his head.

“Mm hmm,” a second voice chimed in. Sometime during their conversation, Mother and daughter had stopped arguing to watch Tim.

“And that’s not all he left, so he really _really_ has to come back,” her voice was a chirp and a bounce before she ran off to disappear into her room, only to return with what looked like a CD in hand.

“He forgot this too, in the DVD player—some old man talking,” her voice dropped low, into a whisper, devious. “Sounds important, I think he’s a secret spy or something.”

Tim felt his cheeks heat up—this could be it, the missing link he needed—even though he was a bit frightened at the prospect of some young children stumbling on possible blackmail or imperative, possibly dangerous data. But Sophie laughed in a telling way before swatting the children off to get clean, leaving both her and Tim alone once again, but now with the comfortable, bubbly shouts and giggles to fill the background.

Tim’s fingers tapped along the edges; it was an undecorated, generic audio CD probably burned from a private computer, most likely destroyed, he’d venture to guess.

“Those kids listen to that thing almost every night since he left.”

“What is it? I mean, knowing Charlie it could range from pretty mundane to incredibly outrageous.”

Sophie snorted, eyebrow raised in mock belief.

“Neither, I think. It’s just a copy of a speech from an old movie—some movie older than all of us here,” she paused, eyebrows furrowed in a brief moment of concentration, before lighting up in realization.

“Charlie Chaplin—that’s his name, the actor. I’ve never seen the movie, but the speech is great. It’s short, if you’d like to hear it.”

Tim felt his chest bubble. He had a hunch to a lead burning at his fingertips, possibly the what, where, or why to his questions. But through his excitement he could see Sophie, expectant, curious to Tim’s answer, and a curiosity mirrored on the faces of her two children hiding completely conspicuous in the hallway. In a way, they were all curious for the same reason. To them, he was Charlie, but really it was all the same. As Tim had come looking for answers to questions, they thought he’d be able to shed light on theirs.

_Whatever happened to Jason Todd?_

When Tim handed her the CD, she smiled back, as warmly as before, and sign of precious doubt resigned from her expression. She popped the CD into a dated radio, and the all listened to the static before the voice echoed in.

_I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor, that’s not my business…_

_I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone…._

_I should like to help everyone if possible._

In the dawn light of his room, no longer suffocated by the darkness, Tim relished in the hum of machinery. This time, he we was confident in the string of recorded movement of one Charles Barber sprinkled between Gotham and Paradise City, California between October and November.  

Maybe it was a stretch, in both distance and lead, but it was something.

And right now, all Tim could really depend on was _something._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multichapter fic and it's going to have a pretty slow build up! Also usually my fics are super G rated but here I am going to write some heavier stuff here for once haha... Well at least heavy for me! 8);;;
> 
> (PS I will add characters to the tags list as progresses, since it may be a long time before they even show up. Plus, it's a mystery haha!)


End file.
